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TO W. L. GARRISON.

No! said one man in Genoa, and that

No Out of the dark created this New

World.

• Some time afterward, it was reported to me by the city officers that they had ferreted out the paper and its editor; that his office was an obscure hole, his only visible auxiliary a negro boy, and his supporters a few very insignificant persons of all colors." - Letter of H. G. Otis

Who is it will not dare himself to trust? Who is it hath no: strength to stand

alone? Who is it thwarts and bilks the inward

MUST? He and his works, like sand, from

earth are blown.

Men of a thousand shifts and wiles,

look here ! See one straightforward conscience put

in

pawn To win a world; see the obedient

sphere By bravery's simplegravitation drawn! Shall we not heed the lesson taught of

old, And by the Present's lips repeated

still, In our own single manhood to be bold, Fortressed in conscience and inpreg

nable will ?

In a small chamber, friendless and un

seen, Toiled o'er his types one poor, un

learned young man; T'he place was dark, unfurnitured, and

mean :Yet there the freedom of a race began. Help came but slowly; surely no man

yet Put lever to the heavy world with

less : What need of help? He knew how

types were set, He had a dauntless spirit, and a press. Such earnest natures are the fiery pith, The compact nucleus, round which

systems grow! Mass after mass becomes inspired there

with, And whirls impregnate with the cen

tral glow. O Truth ! O Freedom ! how are ye still

born In the rude stable, in the manger

nursed ! What humble hands unbar those gates

of morn Through which the splendors of the

New Day burst ! What! shall one monk, scarce known

beyond his cell, Front Rome's far-reaching bolts, and

scorn her frown? Brave Luther answered Yes; that

thunder's swell Rocked Europe, and discharmed the

triple crown. Whatever can be known of earth we

know, Sneered Europe's wise men, in their

snail-shells curled;

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Woe worth the hour when it is crime To plead the poor dumb bondman's When all that makes the heart sublime, The glorious throbs that conquer time,

cause,

Are traitors to our cruel laws !

The poet's clearer eye

should see, in all Earth's seeming woe, the seed of

Heaven's flowers.

He strove among God's suffering poor

One gleam of brotherhood to send ; The dungeon oped its hungry door To give the truth one martyr more, Then shut, and here behold the

end !

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O Mother State! when this was done,

No pitying throe thy bosom gave ; Silent thou saw'st the death-shroud

spun, And now thou givest to thy son

The stranger's charity, — a grave. Must it be thus forever? No!

The hand of God sows not in vain ; Long sleeps the darkling seed below, The seasons come, and change, and go,

And all the fields are deep with grain. Although our brother lie asleep, Man's heart still struggles, still as

pires; His grave shall quiver yet, while deep Through the brave Bay State's pulses

leap Her ancient energies and fires. When hours like this the senses' gush

Have stilled, and left the spirit room, It hears amid the eternal hush The swooping pinions' dreadful rush, That bring the vengeance and the

doom ; Not man's brute vengeance, such as

rends What rivets man to man apart, God doth not so bring round his ends, But waits the ripened time, and sends

His mercy to the oppressor's heart.

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The poor are crushed; the tyrants link

their chain; The poet sings through narrow dun

geon-grates; Man's hope lies quenched; — and, lo !

with steadfast gain Freedom doth forge her mail of ad

verse fates.

slay the prophets ; fagot, rack, and Make up the groaning record of the

past; But Evil's triumphs are her endless loss, And sovereign Beauty wins the soul

at last. No power can die that ever wrought for

Truth; Thereby a law of Nature it became,

cross

ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF

DR. CHANNING.

I do not come to weep above thy pall, And mourn the dying-out of noble

powers;

And lives unwithered in its sinewy

youth, When he who called it forth is but a

name Therefore I cannot think thee wholly

gone; The better part of thee is with us

still ; Thy soul its hampering clay aside hath

thrown, And only freer wrestles with the Ill. Thou livest in the life of all good things; What words thou spak'st for Free

dom shall not die ; Thou sleepest not, for now thy Love

hath wings To scar where hence thy Hope could

hardly fly. And often, from that other world, on

this Some gleams from great souls gone

before may shine, To shed on struggling hearts a clearer

bliss, And clothe the Right with lustre more

divine. Thou art not idle : in thy higher sphere

Thy spirit bends itself to loving tasks, And strength, to perfect what it dreamed

of here Is all the crown and glory that it asks. For sure, in Heaven's wide chambers,

there is room For love and pity, and for helpful

deeds, Else were our summons thither but a

doom To life more vain than this in clayey

weeds. From off the starry mountain-peak of Thy spirit shows me, in the coming

time, An earth unwithered by the foot of

wrong, A race revering its own soul sublime. What wars, what martyrdoms, what

crimes, may come, Thou knowest not, nor I ; but God

will lead

The prodigal soul from want and sorra

home, And Eden ope her gates to Adam

seed. Farewell! good man, good angel now!

this hand Soon, like thine own, shall lose its

cunning too; Soon shall this soul, like thine, be

wildered stand, Then leap to thread the free, un

fathomed blue : When that day comes, O, may this hand

grow cold, Busy, like thine, for Freedom and

the Right; 0. may this soul, like thine, be ever

bold To face dark Slavery's encroaching

blight ! This laurel-leaf I cast upon thy bier ; Let worthier hands than these thy

wreath intwine ; Upon thy hearse I shed no useless

tear, For us weep rather thou in calm di

vine ! 1842.

TO THE MEMORY OF HOOD. Another star 'neath Time's horizon

dropped, To gleam o'er unknown lands and

seas; Another heart that beat for freedom

stopped, What mournful words are these ! O Love Divine, that claspest our tired

earth, And lullest it upon thy heart, Thou knowest how much a gentle soul

is worth
To teach men what thou art !

song:

His was a spirit that to all thy poor

Was kind as slumber after pain : Why ope so soon thy heaven-deep

Quiet's door
And call him heme again?

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TO A. C. L.

'THROUGH suffering and sorrow thou

hast passed To show us what a woman true may be : They have not taken sympathy from

thee, Nor made thee any other than thou

wast, Save as some tree, which, in a sudden

blast, Sheddeth those blossoms, that are

weakly grown, Upon the air, but keepeth every one Whose strength gives warrant of good

fruit at last : So thou hast shed some blooms of

gayety, But never one of steadfast cheerful

ness; Nor hath thy knowledge of adversity Robbed thee of any faith in happiness, But rather cleared thine inner eyes to

see How many simple ways there are to

bless. 1840.

What were I, Love, if I were stripped

of thee, If thine eyes shut me out whereby I

live, Thou, who unto my calmer soul dost

give Knowledge, and Truth, and holy Mys

tery, Wherein Truth mainly lies for those

who see Beyond the earthly and the fugitive, Who in the grandeur of the soul be

lieve, And only in the Infinite are free? Without thee I were naked, bleak, and

bare As yon dead cedar on the sea-cliff's

brow; And Nature's teachings, which come

to me now, Common and beautiful as light and

air, Would be as fruitless as a stream which

still Slips through the wheel of some old

ruined mill. 1841.

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TO THE SPIRIT OF KEATS.

ours

ers

I would not have this perfect love of
Grow from a single root, a single stem,
Bearing no goodly fruit, but only flow-
That idly hide life's iron diadem :
It should grow alway like that eastern

tree Whose limbs take root and spread forth

constantly; That love for one, from which there

doth not spring Wide love forall, is buta worthlessthing. Not in another world, as poets prate, Dwell we apart above the tide of things, High floating o'er earth's clouds on

faery wings; But our pure love doth ever elevate Into a holy bond of brotherhood All earthly things, making them pure

and good. 1840

GREAT soul, thou sittest with me in iny

room, Uplifting me with thy vast, quiet eyes, On whose full orbs, with kindly lustre,

lies The twilight warmth of ruddy ember

gloom : Thy clear, strong tones will oft bring

sudden bloom Of hope secure, to him who lonely cries, Wrestling with the young poet's agonies Neglect and scorn, which seem a cer

tain doom : Yes! the few words which, like great

thunder-drops, Thy large heart down to earth shook

doubtfully, Thrilled by the inward lightning of its

might, Serene and pure, like gushing joy of

light, Shall track the eternal chords of Des

tiny, After the moon-led pulse of ocean stops.

1841.

IV.

VI.

“For this true nobleness I seek in vain,
In woman and in man I find it not ;
I almost weary of my earthly lot,
My life-springs are dried up with burn-

ing pain." Thou find'st it not? I pray thee look

again, Look inward through the depths of

thine own soul. How is it with thee? Art thou sound

and whole? Doth narrow search show thee no earth

ly stain? BE NOBLE! and the nobleness that lies In other men, sleeping, but never

dead, Will rise in majesty to meet thine

own ; Then wilt thou see it gleam in many

eyes, Then will pure light around thy path be

shed, And thou wilt nevermore be sad and

lone 1840

GREAT Truths are portions of the soul

of man ; Great souls are portions of Eternity; Each drop of blood that e'er through

true heart ran With lofty message, ran for thee and

me; For God's law, since the starry song

began, Hath been, and still forevermore must That every deed which shall outlast

Time's span Must goad the soul to be erect and free ; Slave is no word of deathless lineage

sprung, — Too many noble souls have thought and

died, Too many mighty poets lived and sung, And our good Saxon, from lips purified

be,

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